


A Private Revolution

by HammerToFall_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-19
Updated: 2002-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:54:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HammerToFall_Archivist/pseuds/HammerToFall_Archivist
Summary: By Frankie LyndonVignette regarding Avon and Blake.





	A Private Revolution

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hammer to Fall](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hammer_to_Fall), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Hammer to Fall collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HammerToFall/profile).
> 
> originally published in THE BIG B7 ZINE (1993)

Kerr Avon was not completely successful in suppressing the gasp of pain that rose to his lips as he tightened the pressure bandage around his leg. The wound, a deep and ragged laceration of the upper thigh, continued to spill pulsing gouts of blood in spite of the direct pressure the tech had been maintaining for several minutes. Even elevating the limb on a handy rock had resulted in no appreciable slowing of the blood loss. The pressure bandage, a large portion of the silk shirt Avon had been wearing beneath his leather tunic, was his last hope of stopping the blood flow before it became life-threatening.

The bandage tightly-wrapped and knotted, Avon moved his sticky, blood-covered right hand up to his thigh to the point where it joined his groin. For a moment, he could not locate the pulse through the leather of his trousers. After a deep breath and a near-silent admonishment to concentrate, Avon felt the faint vibration of the femoral pulse. Using the heel of his hand, the tech pressed on the artery with all his strength, significantly reducing the blood flow to his left leg.

After several minutes, Avon risked releasing the pressure. As blood, and with it feeling, returned to the leg, the computer tech moaned in pain. Blood soon resumed oozing from the wound, but the quantity was so greatly reduced that it was obvious the wound had begun to clot. With a relieved sigh that was dangerously close to a sob, Avon allowed his upper body to fall back against the rocky ground. Keeping the injured leg still and carefully elevated, Avon permitted himself a few moments to give in to the trembling weakness and waves of dizziness that he'd been struggling against since his fall.

By tipping his head and rolling his eyes back, Avon was able to see up the towering cliff, at the bottom of which he lay. Actually, it wasn't so much a cliff as an embankment; it couldn't have been more than ten meters high. But it might as well have been one hundred meters, the tech acknowledged ruefully; he was definitely not up to climbing anything.

Checking his bracelet once more, the man was forced to concede defeat. While it appeared that the bracelet's locator circuits were unimpaired, as a communications device, it was totally useless.

Damn Blake and his bloody revolution, anyway. Avon hadn't wanted to come to this misbegotten excuse for a planet. And he certainly hadn't wanted to be one of the party to make contact with the rebel cell. And could someone please explain how, when the rebels had failed to turn up as scheduled, he'd allowed himself to be sent "in that direction" to locate Blake's missing contact? So now, here he lay, on an uncomfortable bed of rocks and debris, waiting for the "Great Leader," the "Savior of the Masses," to realize that one of his crew was missing.

Some changes were going to be made, Avon promised himself, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position. He was through allowing himself to be talked into situations he knew were too risky. As of today, he was immune to Blake's particular brand of charisma. The man could be manipulative, then charming in turns, but that would no longer impact Kerr Avon. The bloody revolution could find itself another top-notch computer man, because this one was getting out while the getting was still good.

His decision made, Avon drew a deep breath and prepared himself to wait for rescue. A few moments later, faint voices and scuffling sounds returned his attention to the top of the bluff. As he watched, an upside-down mop of curly hair appeared. Under it were a pair of concerned brown eyes.

"Avon, we've been looking everywhere for you. Are you all right?" Belatedly noticing Avon's position and the large area of darkly-stained soil that surround the crudely bandaged leg, Blake raised an eyebrow and continued, "Never mind, stupid question. I'll be right down, then we'll see what we can do about teleporting you up to medical."

With that, the head disappeared and Avon found he was able to breathe again. His resolution to be free of Blake and his Cause had faltered the moment he'd seen the other man. Suddenly, he had any number of good reasons why now was not the time to abandon the freedom fighters. He still felt his claim for the Liberator was as least as good as Blake's, and what about all the riches in the treasure room? He couldn't leave so much of value in Blake's careless hands; he'd just waste it on the rebellion.

No, he would stay with the crew of rebels, but some things would change. In the future, he would be more firm with the other man; no more taking foolish chances for little gain. And no matter how appealing the ploy, he would not be led...unless he chose to follow.

His decision carefully rationalized, Avon lay back firmly ignoring the small glow of excitement that continued to burn as he awaited Blake's arrival.

the end


End file.
